


We're Not Working Out/ Oh Baby Let Me In

by A_Flurry_of_Self_Destruction, Self Destruct (A_Flurry_of_Self_Destruction)



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Nonbinary Party Poison (Danger Days)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21913978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Flurry_of_Self_Destruction/pseuds/A_Flurry_of_Self_Destruction, https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Flurry_of_Self_Destruction/pseuds/Self%20Destruct
Summary: Ghoul loved Slam. She really did. Even if she hated the way that he always touhed her whenever he wanted, however he wanted. Even if he left her bruises and scars when she didn't do what he wanted.He was the only person she had talked to in years after all. She was lucky to have him.Even if she hated it when he told her what a pretty girl she was.But for the first time in maybe a year she goes on a run herself, and so many questions get answered, leaving so many more new ones.
Relationships: Fun Ghoul & Party Poison (Danger Days), Fun Ghoul (Danger Days) & Original Character(s), Fun Ghoul (Danger Days)/Original Male Character(s), Fun Ghoul/Party Poison (Danger Days)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

Fun Ghoul didn't like leaving the old building she called home. But… but she needed supplies and Slam was tired. He had made that abundantly clear. And he had made it clear that he wanted her home in three hours. He… he had plans for her… if it made him happy, then… then that's what made her happy.

"I'm leaving," she said quietly, kissing him on the forehead, hoping she wouldn't… wouldn’t shock him too much. Or get in his way, "I'll be home as soon as I can. I- I know you have plans for tonight." She tried her best not to flinch away when he reached for her. He didn't like that.

He put his hand on her hip this time, which was… well, it was better than it could have been. At least she wouldn't have a bruise from this touch. He loved her. He never hit her on purpose, he just got mad sometimes. It was okay.

"You better be. I might just break you tonight whore." Ghoul hated when Slam called her that but she wouldn't say anything. It… if he liked to call her that then he could. If it made him happy she would let him fuck her any time. It was better when he was happy. He didn't leave as many bruises when he was happy.

"I love you, darling." She said quietly, taking a step back and trying not to sigh in relief when his hand he left her waist.

Ghoulie had never been a particularly good driver, nor did she particularly like it. She didn't like driving through the zones. Too many memories that weren't quite there.

God, it gd been a while since she'd left the house… and… it had been maybe a year or.two.sunce she had talked.to anyone but Slam. Even then, it's not like it was anything more than a bomb order. But that was okay. She didn't need anyone but Slam. That's what he said. She didn't need anyone else, because they would distract her from what was important. Him.

Things were better this way. He loved her, and that's what mattered. Nobody else would ever live someone like her, so she was so lucky to.have him. He was… he was smart and he loved her.

But Slam wouldn't have forgotten his radio, and Ghoul didn't know she did until her truck stopped moving. "God damn it!" She cursed, banger her hand and then her head against the steering wheel, "God fucking damn it!" She didn’t know shit about how to fix a car. Why would she, she hated driving in one. It could take fucking DAYS before someone found her for all she knew. She wanted to cry… fuck, Slam would be so mad at her. This was all her fault. She deserved whatever she got…

God, the sun was hot out here, she didn't know if it would be any better if the windows were up or down. Maybe she would suffocate in the hot air if she left the windows up. Then Slam wouldn't have to deal with her.

No… no, she couldn't do that. She couldn't think about that. She… she was useful. She built the bombs that made them the carbons to live. She… she was useful. She helped him.

She decided that even though it was hot, sitting on the hood was her best option, that way, if someone drove past then maybe they would see her. Maybe they would stop and help.

Sitting on the hood turned to laying down on it, and laying turned to closing her eyes. Before she knew it she was being woken up by a hand on her shoulder. At least he wasn’t… wasn’t touching her other places this time. That was one of the worst ways to wake up. But… but it was hot. Why was it hot? Why wasn’t she in her bed?

“Are you okay? Hey, wake up, are you okay!?” The voice was frantic

That wasn’t Slam’s voice. Ghoul bolted up, and it all came to her. She was on the hood of her truck. It broke down. It was hot because of the son. She looked at the stranger with wide eyes, not sure what to say. She hadn’t spoken to anyone other than Slam in so long. She hadn’t seen anyone but Slam in so long. He didn’t really like it when she left the house. He liked to be able to spend every moment with her. He was just sweet like that. “Y-yeah I’m okay,” She sighed, “Actually, no I’m not. My truck broke down, and I honestly don’t know shit about cars.” She admitted quietly, embarrassed. Dear Dystroya, she was useless. No wonder nobody liked her but Slam. He was so nice.

“Er… Well it can't be much different from my car, I can take a look at it.” they guy had a confident grin that felt right at home on him. He was pretty she supposed. He was tall, or at least taller than her -though that wasn't difficult- he had bright red hair that fell loosely in front of his hazel eyes and yellow mask. He… he definitely looked like a real killjoy. God, what she'd give to be like that.

But she was nothing like that. She was short, and her whole small body was littered with scars. Slam always said that she would be so much prettier without all those damn scars. He was right. Her grey blue eyes were nowhere as bright as his hazel. She had long black hair down past her waist. She hated it. It was so… girly. God she was broken. She was a girl. Of course she was feminine. Like she should be.

"That would be nice… I mean… if you can." She felt bad asking. She hated asking for help. It was pathetic wasn't it, not knowing anything about how to fix her truck. Being helpless. God, Slam would be so disgusted with her. 

The killjoy shrugged, "Course I can. 'S not like I've got anywhere to be." They kept talking while he worked on the truck, or well, he kept talking and she reluctantly kept the conversation up. She wasn't really used to this.

He -his name was Party Poison she had come to find out- was really nice, it was weird. Why was he being so nice to her, she was so… so useless. And he was so kind, "Why are you being so nice to me?" She asked out of the blue, "I mean, you're so cool! You're a real killjoy, I'm just some waste of space snowstorm that can't even fix a car." It wasn't meant to seem so self deprecating, it was just… well it was true. "A guy like you should never give me the time of day."

Poison gave a small smile, "What about that makes you useless? Only reason I know shit is because my brother races." He definitely lit ul when he mentioned his brother. He must make him happy. Poison gave a small laugh, "And lucky for you there are no 'guys like me'. I'm nonbinary." He smiled 

"You're a what now?" Ghoul asked confusedly, he had said he was… nonbinary? What the hell did that mean?

Poison actually laughed a bit, "I'm nonbinary. It means I'm not a boy or a girl. I use they/them pronouns instead of she/her or he/him." He -they rather- explained. Ghoul didn't quite understand, and it showed on her face. That was an option? There were options? Poison could.see the confusion, so they explained more, "Like I was born male, but I'm not a boy, but I'm not transgender, at least not like… fully. I'm somewhere in between a boy and a girl, but at the same time not either I guess? I s'pose it's kinda a confusing concept. Let's just phrase it like this, some people are born in the wrong body. Some people are born male but they feel like girls. Some people are born female but they feel like boys. Some people, like me, dont feel like either."

"So… if I didnt feel like a girl I could… be a boy? That's like… an option?" That's what she got out of that. She didn't HAVE to be a girl. Maybe she wasn't just broken, and really just not born in the right body?

She didn't have to be a girl.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two  
[[TW: There are graphic depictions of violence and abuse in this chapter, if that makes you uncomfortable to read, I've marked the beginning with '**', and will do so with the end of it, as well as add a brief non graphic summary. ]]

The Run itself didn't take long, but she can only think of two things the entire few hours. She didn't have to be a girl and that... It gave her some sort of hope, though she didn't know what that meant. But then there was the other issue… Slam wouldn't be happy that she was gone so long, and she would be happy but she had been around someone else without his permission. He wouldn't like the thought of Party Poison. So... She wouldn't lie to him, but she would just... Leave out the part where Party gave her the radio wave to reach them on. He didn't have to know that part.

Party had said that it was "If you're ever in trouble or need help" she laughed a bit when they said that. When would SHE ever need help? It's not like she ever did anything, and Slam would never let anyone else hurt her. He loved her. 

And, because he loved her, Slam was very mad when she got home. It had been seven hours give or take, and the sun was starting to hide behind the sand. She had left in the morning time. Oh no… Slam wasn't going to be happy. He had TOLD he had plans, he had TOLD her when he wanted her home.

She… she deserved whatever she got.

**  
"Where the FUCK have you been you bitch!?" It was almost immediate as she walked in the door as if Slam had been waiting for her to get back, "I told you to be home four fucking hours ago!" Slam was red in the face, and Ghoul could see the red-tint to his eyes and white powder on his nose and upper lip.

Oh no… fuck, it was so much worse when he was like this… he just… he just got so mad. And she had already done something to piss him off. It didn't help that she flinched when he took a step closer and muttered a shaky "I'm sorry-" under her breath.

"What was that whore!? Did you just fucking tell me you're sorry!? Sorry doesn't do fucking shit." Slam took a loud step closer, wrapping a large hand around Ghoul's neck and forcing her to look up at him, "Don't make me ask again." He said darkly, "Where were you?"

"Th-the truck broke down," Fun Ghoul choked out, "I-I didn't know what to do a-and I forgot my radio here and- and I had to wait and someone helped me and I got back as quick as I could!" Tears were streaming down her face uncontrollably already. She was so pathetic..."I didn't mean too!"

Slam shoved her out of his hand and against the concrete floor, towering over her as she fell harshly, hitting her head on the way down, "Stop crying you stupid fucking bitch, you're fucking pathetic!" One kick to the ribs. Two. Three. "You better pray to your stupid fucking zone gods that I don't just fucking get rid of you!" Four kicks to the ribs. Ghoul knew that they were probably broken, and she could feel the blood starting to dry on the back of her head where she hit it.

Fuck, she shouldn't have been out so long… she shouldn't have forgotten her radio.

"You're lucky I'm fucking tired you stupid whore. If I wasn't you would be fucking helpless.. Go to bed you stupid whore, get out of my fucking sight." 

Ghoul didn’t hesitate to force herself of the ground, trying her best not grunt or whine at the pain. Her ribs weren’t as bad as they were the last time he got mad, and the bruises on her wrists were finally healing. It was fine. She would just… wait for him in bed.   
**  
[[ Slam is mad that Ghoul comes home late, and kicks her around, breaking a few bruises, then tells her she us usless and to go to bed. No summary can express the extent of my rage and hate for Slam.]]

Ghoul couldn't sleep as she waited for Slam to get tired and come to bed. She didn't want to think about it. It… it was to much. 

Maybe… Maybe she could think about what Party Poison had told her earlier. About… transgender people she believed they called them. It made a lot of sense once he explained it, but there was still parts that were missing. Why would someone be born in the wrong body? Why did she feel so wrong? Did… did transgender people's stomach hurt and their head pound when they saw their chests like hers did?

Did they see someone of the opposite sex and wish they could be more like them? Or was Ghoul just a broken girl? Yeah… yeah that was it.

She just thought Slam eas amazing and wanted to be string like him. Yeah… that was it. She just wanted to be more like him and it was fucking with her head. Just a broken girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, sorry for the short chapter. Just a side note, Ghoul's dysphoria in this chapter is based off of my and my friends own experiences. Everybody is different.


	3. Chapter Three

[[This should be the last chapter with this warning, but the same warning as last chapter applies: There are graphic depictions of violence and abuse in this chapter, if that makes you uncomfortable to read, I've marked the beginning with '**', and will do so with the end of it, as well as add a brief non graphic summary. Another brief TW is mentions of sever transphobia]]

It had been three weeks since Ghoul's last run, her last disaster, and it had been one week since she had spoken to anyone. Sometimes Slam would leave for a week at a time, and come back with a brand new lipstick stain on his jacket, and the smell of perfume like a hazy cloud around him. His eyes were always purple when he came back, and his chest was covered in hickeys. 

But… but it was okay. She just wasn't good enough sometimes. That… she couldn't blame him for that… that wasn't his fault. She would just have to be better for him. Fake it a little better, then he wouldn't have to go to those girls. Those other girls.

He… he probably knew about her problem. And really, this time she had the time to think. And he knew it wasn't just some part of her that was broken though.. She didn't want to be a girl! She wasn't a girl.

It made her feel so damn small, like she couldn't defend herself! Like Slam could do anything he wanted to her and she just had to put up with it! No, she was done with it. And that wasn't it... But... Everything else was just so hard to think about. She didn't want to think about her boobs, or her long hair, or everything else she couldn't change about herself, everything else that would never be right. But...  
But maybe she could tell Slam? And he would help fix it.

He loved her- no, no it was him now. It always had been, but know he knew what it meant. Slam loved him. And he would love him no matter what, because that how love worked right?  
\---  
The knife wasn't hard to find, and he didn't think twice before tying back his long black hair and saying goodbye and good riddance. And it felt like a weight off his shoulders. It was messy, and it looks like hell, but it was... Well it was a hell of a lot better. He smiled at himself in the mirror, Slam would help him clean it up when he got home.

**  
But Slam didn't smile when he walked in the door, covered in other girl's marks. He looked at Ghoul disgusted, "What the hell is this shit?" He gestured at Ghoul sloppily, his words slurring, "You look even more fucking ridiculous than usual, what the fuck did you do to your hair?"

But Slam didn't look mad, he was just… just confused, and that made sense. So Ghoul would have to explain it to him. He would understand then, "Well for lack of better words that I know of, I don't feel right. And I don't want you to call me a girl anymore, because I'm a boy. I-"

Slam cut him off, "What the fuck is that supposed to mean whore? You're not a fucking boy, dont give me any of this 'transgender' fucking bullshit. You're not a fucking boy and you never have been. I don't know what kind of idiot put that idea into your head." Slam looked so disgusted. 

And Ghoul did something he hadn't done in years. Ghoul took a step closer to Slam, albeit trying to hold back tears, "It's not bullshit, and it's not up to you!" He raised his voice just a bit, "Y-you're my boyfriend, I thought you would support me, but no! No you tell me that the way I feel is bullshit, right after you come home from loving other people! Why am I not good enough for you!?"

Slam closed the gap Ghoul jad left between them and shoved him double handed to the ground, "Don't fucking yell at me you stupid whore! You have no right to fucking speak that way me me I'm gonna kick your ass! What the hell got into your head that you think you can be something you're not!? I knew you were fucking stupid but how the hell!? You're not a fucking boy and I'll fucking prove it to you if that's what your dumb ass needs!"

Slam pulled him up by the shirt and slammed him up against the wall, hard enough for Ghoul to hear a crack and get dizzy.

The room felt fuzzy and faded in and out of black as Slam screamed, Ghoul getting smacked again when he didn't answer, though he wasn't able to feel it anymore. And it lasted until everything went black, and he couldn't feel anything at all.

**  
[[When Ghoul tries to explain things Slam gets mad and tells him that he isn't really a boy, and that he never will be. Ghoul gets mad and raises his voice at Slam, which results in Slam getting even angrier. Ghoul is beaten out of consciousness from mainly a head injury.]]

When Ghoul woke up his head was pounding. Everywhere hurt, and took everything he could not to scream. She wasn't sure she would even be able to if he tried.

Everything was silent, and Ghoul could only think of one thing through his throbbing pain. Slam wasn't here. He left. A Rush of relief felt like a bomb setting off inside him. Slam was gone. Slam was gone and it was still daytime out, which meant that he would be gone for a few hours at the least.

Ghoul laid there for what felt like hours, unable to move or make a cry for help, not that it would do anything. It was as he noticed the pools of dried blood that soaked his shirt and matted his hair that he noticed something else. 

Slams radio was laying about ten feet away.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four  
[[Very brief TW: there are mentions of blood and injuries throughout the whole chapter.]]

It was right there! Right there… completely out of reach. It's like it was taunting him, sitting there with a glowing red light around it, although now that he thought of it everything was emitting the haze of red. If he just reach it-

But who would he even call? Slam was the one who did this to him. Nobody else even knew his name other than when it was signed messily on their bombs. Nobody in the desert would help him, and hell, he wouldn't know how to contact them. With his damn luck, he would end up accidentally signaling a fucking Exterminator from The City.

And that was if he was able to get to the radio at all. Everything was pounding, and the hazy red was pulsing, pulsing. He couldn't tell if his head or his ribs hurt more, or if it was the sinking feeling in his stomach that nobody would save him, and that he would die right there that would eventually kill him.

Red. Red red red, what did that remind him of? It wasn't the blood rushing to his head or the dried fleshy wounds. It was something that gave him hope somehow, but he didn't know exactly what. What was it? It hurt his head just trying to think. 147. The numbers were echoing in his head but what did they mean? What the hell could they be? Ghoul had never had 147 of well, anything in his entire life. Well, he had more than 147 bombs, but that didn’t count. Why did that number feel so important, why was it banging around hid head like an uncapped grenade ready to explode?

One Hundred Forty-Seven. That was the radio wave that Party had told Ghoul he could reach them on. That he could reach them on if he was ever in trouble. Did this count as trouble? Yes, yes what was he thinking, of course, this was trouble! He was bleeding on the floor god damn it, he did NOT have the time for all this self-pity! But he didn’t want to bother Party. They were probably busy. It had been weeks since their encounter, Party had probably forgotten by now… forgotten all about him. What was there to remember anyways, just some idiot who couldn’t fix a damn truck.

And how would he get over there anyways, the radio was out of his reach, and the useless fuck couldn’t even be bothered to move! He was going to die there if he didn’t do anything. If he couldn’t do anything. It took him so long to get up, forcing himself to turn onto his stomach, which hurt like hell by the way, and using his arms to tug his tiny body to the radio.

He wanted to cry when he finally grasped onto the small radio, he could barely breathe, though he wasn’t sure if it was out of relief or the fact that he had just dragged himself ten feet on his ribs that were definitely broken, or that the room was spinning in red. It felt like his fingers wouldn’t move like they were… like the way it feels when you sleep on your hand all night, and it gets swollen and red, and you can’t move it for a few minutes. But now it wasn’t just a few minutes. He had to poke at the buttons, “O-one… four… sev-seven….” Ghoul muttered, or well gasped out as he punched in the numbers into the radio.

“Pa-arty Poison?” He gasped out into the radio, “Party I don’t know if you can hear me… hell, I don’t know if I even got the right radio wave. It- it’s Fun Ghoul. Please- I- you said I could radio you if I was in trouble. Well… Party I’m in trouble. Please.” Ghoul’s throat hurt too much to talk, and he dropped the radio before he heard the static, then a familiar voice.

“Ghoul? Fun Ghoul? Where are you, what zone, where are you? I’ll come and get you and you can tell me what happened.” Party- Party sounded genuinely worried. Ghoul could bearly gasp out his location before he started coughing, dropping the radio to the ground again to hold his hands over his mouth. His hands were red when he pulled them away, but not just the hazey red cloud that surrounded everything, but dark red and covered in his blood. More… more blood. The metallic smell that radiated around the room made him sick, but he knew if he threw up he would lose even more blood, and he already felt light-headed.

Hell. That’s what this was, this was hell. Or a bad dream, maybe it was a nightmare, and he would wake up in his bed as the happy little girl he was supposed to be, in a normal world where he played with dolls and there was no city and no killjoys to worry about. But that would never happen, and he knew it. Because it all felt too real to be a dream. The pain in his ribs, in his head, in his throat were too real. And everything ached and there was that feeling, that reoccurring feeling he had had since five years old that he just wasn’t right. That everything about him just wasn’t right, and that he and the rest of the world would be better of if he weren’t in it.

It would be easier that way wouldn’t it? If he just died right now? Then Party wouldn’t have to try and help him, and he would fall out of all the pain and misery. Everything would stop hurting so damn much. 

But that thought, that miserable painful thought was interrupted by the door in front of him flying open, and two killjoys rushing to his side. They were saying something, shouting maybe, but Ghoul’s head hurt and he just wanted them to stop. The light from outside the door was so damn bright and it hurt his eyes, and his head was pounding from the two or maybe it was four of them being so loud!

“P-please stop-” He muttered before everything went cold and dark.

\---  
When Fun Ghoul woke up, it was anything but cold. Before he could see he could feel. He could feel everything. But there was more than just pain his time. There was something solid underneath him, and his head felt like it was on somebody’s lap. He could feel… something on his forehead. Something cold- one of the… one of the two- maybe four though he was almost positive it was two now- had but a wet rag on his forehead.

He was trying to wake up, trying hard to be conscious again, and what jerked him out of it all was when one of them, the one holding him said, “She’s stirring, should I try and wake her, what should I do?’

‘She’s stirring’, ‘should I try and wake her’, god, it made him sick, and that’s what pushed him to gasp out three words and open his eyes slowly, “It-it’s he now.”


	5. Chapter Five

“It-it’s he now,” Ghoul muttered, and he felt every vibration like the hum of electricity as words ran through his throat. He could now see, albeit everything was blurry, that it was Party Poison who was holding his head in their lap, looking down at him with that crazy, kind smile they had when they met.

“Good for you kid.” Ghoul cringed at how loud their voice was, it felt like it echoed in his head. It was awful. He definitely had another concussion. There was no doubt. It seemed like Party could tell because the next thing they said was quieter, “Do you want me to help you sit up or do you want to keep laying down? My friend Jet didn’t get the chance to look at it very well, but your head looks pretty bad, you’ve been out for hours.”

A few hours? God, they didn’t even know how long he had been out before. He didn’t even know how long he was out before. Everything hurt less, or maybe it hurt more then it had earlier. He couldn’t tell. “I uh- will you h-help me up?” Dizzy. The world was spinning, and he could bearly lay down without his head hurting, let alone sit up. But laying on Party Poison’s lap made him feel so damn small, so fucking weak and he hated it.

Poison reached under his arms to lift him up, which just made Ghoul feel weaker than he had when he was laying on their lap. What was worse, Ghoul could barely even sit up, he had to lean against the door behind him. It was… well, it was humiliating. He hated it, “Thanks for picking me up or whatever…” Ghoul muttered, a little bit to embarrass to make eye contact.

“Of course.” It seemed like Party could read the mood that Ghoul was in, “Look, you don’t have to talk about it right now if you don’t want to, or… ever really. But… but you were beat up really bad Ghoul. Who did that to you? What happened?” Party’s face was scrunched up at the eyebrows, and Ghoul couldn’t tell if it was pity in their eyes of genuine worry. God, he really didn’t want their pity.

“I- I honestly don’t really know what happened. I don’t remember.” Why was he lying? What did he have to lose anyway? He couldn’t go back to slam even if he wanted to, so why was he protecting him? Did he want to? No, no he had needed to get away from Slam for so long, and he knew that. He knew that now, so why, why was there a part of him that longed for the good moments? Why did he miss the beginning when Slam used to hold him and braid his hair. Hell, he didn’t even want that back but he missed it so much! He missed when Slam used to say “I love you” and kiss him softly, before everything felt so wrong in his head, and before Slam’s eyes had went purple. Before there were beer bottles instead of food in their home. God, Ghoul could barely remember when it was even home.

The fact that he was lying was obvious, and Poison looked strained not to push, but the man in the front seat was giving him a look (Instead of looking at the road mind you) that said not to. Party was bad at listening, “You know that… no matter what happened -if you do remember that is- that you can tell me. The desert isn’t kind to anybody, but I try to be.”

Ghoul just nodded and gazed out the window, only awake for a few moments and wishing he was unconscious, everything is so much easier when you’re unconscious, and you don’t have to think about everything that’s going wrong. Is that what it was like when you’re dead? Well… Ghoul didn’t want to fall asleep yet.

\---

The car ride was awkward. Poison didn’t know where they were expecting though. Well, the hadn’t really known what to expect, hell, they met this kid weeks ago and by “Radio me if there is any trouble” they had meant car trouble, and they were entirely sure that THIS was not car trouble. Definitely not car trouble.

With the way Ghoul looked, and the way they found him, it looked like he had been jumped, and like the person or people that had done it meant for him to die. Things like that weren’t uncommon in rival crews, but Ghoul sure as hell didn’t seem like he had a crew. If he had a crew he would be with them, not in the trans am. And if he was jumped, he wouldn't have been in his own house. Crows wouldn't have left him.

That kid was worrying them, but Dystroya, they didn’t want to push. It wasn’t their business, right? But what the hell even was the plan? Obviously they were all headed to the closest clinic, but then what? Would Ghoul stay at the diner with them Kobra and Jet? Would he go back home, back to whoever or whatever monster did that to him? 

There was no way that any of the bruises and injuries that boy had were any sort of accident. The kid had a clear concussion, and he was barely able to sit up by himself. He was covered in bruises and Dystroya only knew how many. Not to mention the blood matting his hair to his scalp and he shirt to his scrawny stomach and chest.

It was their place to ask. They knew that, that's how the desert worked. As long as the sun rose and set, you didn't pry at another Joy's life. Everybody had their past, Poison included, and sometimes there were things that you didn't tell other people, certainly not practical strangers. So you didn't ask unless they told you. But Poison was never… never one for following societal rules.

"Was it a rival crew?" Not their business~ "That did that to you I mean. Was it someone you know?" They didn't know what they were expecting, but they didn't expect the small man to look at them with tears streaming down his face like rain and a rage in his eyes that almost looked like fear.

"I told you I don't remember!" He shouted, "I appreciate the fucking help but it's none of you damn business anyways so why dont you just fuck off about it all!?"

\---

ABORT ABORT NO NO NO NO NO! 

No no no. No he did not just scream at someone like that fuck! Poison was going to hate him!

Ghoul quickly shut his eyes tight and used his arms to cover his face, hopefully that would help with the impact when Poison punched him.

But the blow never came, just a quiet, "I'm sorry, I'll quit asking questions." Now it was Party who sounded… not scared like Ghoul had been, but worried. Was Ghoul just another time bomb? 

Ticking, ticking, ticking and waiting to go off in an explosion for the masses? He didn't want to be just another set of hazard lights on a broken runway. It was a terrifying thought- what if he was just like Slam?

What if he was angry with a short temper? Was it just the situation? Was it the stress? Or was he a time bomb?


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, these chapters get slightly longer when I feel lonely and depressed! Woot woot, at least my shit moods are decent for something, even if this is a shit fuc is ridiculously short and barely worth reading :D

G houl was laid out asleep on the makeshift hospital bed, bandaged to all hell, but not dead. He was finally asleep, though he heard that he had been asleep for a while before that. It was a shock to everyone that he was alive to be perfectly honest. He could see in on all their faces, the doctor, Party Poison, Jet Star. The doctor- some guy named Neon Nitrogen- told him that fro what he saw, and from what the two others told him about how he was found, he should by. He didn’t quite remember what happened, but the things they told him felt scarily real. They had found him in a pool of his own blood, entirely delirious. 

He didn’t remember any of it, but he was sure of what happened. It had never gotten that bad before but he knew that… well part of him knew that Slam would react the way he did, or at least the way it sure as hell seemed like he did. Sleep was a relief, a time when he didn’t have to wonder what happened. But the dreams didn’t seem to agree with him, and they didn’t seem to forget what happened before he was knocked out. Dreams didn’t want there to be any escape for him., and they would make sure there wasn’t.

\--

_ Ghoul was running down a hallway. It looked like the one and his and Slam’s small home, but longer all the paintings on the walls distorted and screaming. He couldn’t pinpoint what he was running from, all he knew was that he couldn’t stop no matter what. Whatever he was running from was out for blood, and that was a sure thing. There was screaming somewhere behind him, incoherent shouts of nothing and everything. He couldn’t understand what the voice was saying or who it was, but it was eerily close to his head, to hard to forget. _

_ H _ _ is stomach dropped and he could feel the blood running down the walls and the floor behind him like it was leaking through the ceiling. Every footstep behind him pounded and then, then there was one word he heard through the shouting that he understood. “Whore.” _

_ He tripped. He tripped, falling face-first down the stairs he hadn’t seen before. They seemed to never end. Words echoed through his head in Slam’s screaming voice, all too familiar and painful in themselves. Things he didn’t want to repeat, they hurt too much. It wasn’t as if Ghoul hadn’t been called just about everything.  _

_ The stairs seemed like they went on forever before he hit the bottom. Crashing down them for hours, not an inch of his body painless or unbruised. When he finally stopped falling and had the strength to look up there was something ingrained in his brain staring back down at him. _

_ The end of the baseball bat collided with his face. _

_ \-- _

Ghoul woke with a start, tears streaming down the sides of his face and burning into his skin. He tied to shove himself into the sitting position but yelped in pain when he did, falling back onto the bed. Oh yeah. The broken ribs and wrist would do that now, wouldn’t they? Ghoul should know, this was far from the first time he had broken ribs.

T he commotion hadn’t only woken Ghoul, as the cherry red killjoy looked at him with a confused and tired look fro the corner of the room. Had they… had they been asleep in the chair? There was nobody else in the room, and Poison was, as Ghoul started to learn they always were, the one to break the silence, “Bad dream? My little brother gets those so bad he can’t move, and he wakes up screamin’ all still in his bed.” the way they said it seemed still empathetic, but as if being paralyzed by nightmares was normal.

Ghoul had to take a moment to dry his tears with his good hand, and catch his breath enough to actually speak. He had never been able to breath well, and when he was younger his moms said he had something called asthma. Slam told him that things like asthma were just an excuse weak people made so people couldn't call them weak. "Yeah. Yeah I'm fine though." He said. You know, like a liar, "You can go back to sleep. And you can hang out with your friends if you want, I'm fine. "

He didn't want Poison's pity. He was better of in his own, that much was made clear by finding out the only person he had ever loved fully inteanded to beat him to death. Poison gave him a weird look, but seemed to decide that it wasn't worth what they had previously thought to say, and instead said "So, I dont think you should go back to that place we found you when you're able to, you know, move properly. You were in bad shape, and clearly someone ment to hurt you real bad, and could do it again." They sighed, their voice still soft and tired, "You can stay with my crew for a while to get on your feet. We don't have much extra space, but you and I can share my big ass bed or something. I know damn well what it's like to have nothing out here. I'm not putting anybody else through that."

Well they were… at least they seemed to care, though Ghoul had the suspicion that it was all because they felt bad. Ghoul would have felt bad for someone else in his situation, but again, he wasn't interested in anybody's damn pity. But… but "That would be nice. Yeah, yeah I would appreciate that. Just until I get on my feet though, I dont want to be a fucking dependent bitch." He had already been one for his while life. He wasnt going to let anyone do that to him. Ever. Fucking. Again.

\--

He still hadn't been told the whole story of how they found him when he woke up the next morning, Poison still asleep, this time on the ground with the spare pillow and blanket Ghoul had thrown at them.

They had only been told little buts luke the pools of blood and his looking close to death. He soon fond out about the bloody baseball bad that it looked like Slam had beat him with after he passed out. He learned of the, to quote Jet Star, "Heartbreaking radio call" to Poison, and how they had to make makeshift bandages and get out of there as quick as possible because as they left some blonde bastard -Slam to be specific as Ghoul absolutely didn't tell them- started shooting at them and screaming, clearly a junkie.

He learned that they lived in an old diner a few zones away, and that the doc would let them all leave for there in about three days when Ghoul could physically fucking move.

Poison stayed there for those few days with him, making little small talk, and mostly sitting in the room while ghoul rested. Jet had driven back to the dinner until he was needed again, but Poison had wanted to stay for some reason. 

Ghoul was.t exactly complaining, Poison made good meaningless small talk when he was awake, and they made him feel slightly more star when he slept for some reason. It was… it was nice.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short little filler chapter to see if anybody is still reading this lol

Ghoul didn’t heal quite as fast or as… well as the Doc said he should. Maybe he had weak bones, but really, even if he didn’t want to, Ghoul was starting to see hat it was probably because he got beat over and over without the chance or resources to heal. Slam had always convinced him that he was just playing it up for attention and that his injuries were never that bad. That Slam never really hurt him, just gave him what he deserved. 

He didn’t really open up to Poison at all, even when the scenes of that night started coming back. Even when he knew how it all started. Actually, that just made him want to tell them less. He already felt weak as all fucking hell, and he didn’t need Jet and Poison knowing that he was even more pathetic then they must already thing he was. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Poison that it was someone he loved- who he thought loved him- that did this to him.

Of course, of COURSE, Ghoul did want to talk to them. Part of him wanted to vent and cry and tell them everything, about the last four years of his life, the way he was treated. He wanted SOMEONE to at least have some semblance of understanding how he felt. But he and Poison weren’t that close yet. They just- they just weren’t there yet no matter how much Ghoul wished in the deepest parts of his heart that they were. So… so whenever Poison tried to bring op anything to serious Ghoul changed the topic. It was easier that way. And even though they were clearly trying very very hard not to, they didn’t push when Ghoul changed the topic. Though they would try to bring it up in a couple of hours, it wasn’t hard to tell that Ghoul was lying. But he didn’t know Poison, and Poison didn’t know him. There were no benefits to bearing your soul, to giving people something they could use against you when you made them mad.


	8. Chapter Eight

“What happens after this?” Ghoul asked, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. They had talked about it before, but well, Ghoul was used to inconsistency. Plus, the Doc’ said that he was gonna be getting out of the clinic soon, hell, he could already even pretty much function like a person, they just wanted to make sure that would last before he left.

Poison wasn’t exasperated with him and didn’t mind telling him again, “Well you’re coming back to stay with me and Jet and my little brother, because there’s no way in bat fuckin’ City I’m letting you go back to the place you got the light bugs beaten’ out of you,” Ghoul still refused to admit what was wrong, “And you’re gonna sleep in my room, and I’ll let your tiny ass have the bed to your self till you’re chilled out with physical contact.

Ghoul sighed and rolled to face Poison, quietly saying, “Thank you again. It… it really means a lot.”

“I know.”

But the way Ghoul saw it, Poison couldn’t possibly know. Ghoul hadn’t told him after all. All Poison knew is that Ghoul let someone beat the sit out of him and leave him there. All Poison knew it that Ghoul got hurt and couldn’t defend himself. And they knew that- that Ghoul wasn’t a real boy. That was made clear by the shitty haircut and the feminine hips and his stupid fucking boobs! God, there was no way to hide them and he wanted to cry, and every time the doc tried to take his vitals he wanted to fight it because he had to take his shirt off. At least… at least Poison left the room during that.

Fuck.

“What is there even to do in the desert?” bitter about all the lost time? Maybe he was. Sarcastic to try and pretend his life wasn’t a shitshow? Absolutely. He knew what slam did. He parties and drank with redlight dolls, and did cocaine off of some whore’s tits every other night.

“Depends what you’re into,” they shrugged, “I like concerts personally, but when I’m at home I like to make things. Draw and paint and shit.” and Oh, that piqued Ghoul’s interest.

“You paint?” absolute saucer eyes. That had maybe been one thing about his childhood, and his life in general that had been good. Art. when he was little, after his mamas left, before he fell down the rabbit hole of falling for Slam, he had a different love, something that motivated him to keep moving. The murals around the desert, music in the distance when you knew you were coming close to a rowdy ‘joy, or close to a radio station. Back when he and Slam were all shiny and new, they used to tie-dye together, laughing as if nothing could ever go bad. Ike in a few years their relationship wouldn’t be molded and rotten. 

“Yeah, I sell some of my shit, and I have a few murals up around the desert. You like to paint.?”

Ghoul shook his head, “Never had much access to paint, I wouldn’t know, but I like art.” an understatement at best he thought.

Poison nodded, leaning back in their seat, not the one dreamily staring at the ceiling, "I'm so glad I have paint." They said smiling just a bit, "I mean how else would I Express my bitch ass emotions?" 

Ghoul struggled, once again staring up at the ceiling too, just like he had had to do for weeks. It was painted like a sunset, desert rats hated the white. Slam used to like sunsets. They would watch them together on the hood of his truck and look at the clouds. 

He used to be so sweet, and damn it it took a lot not to cry. Slam used to sing to him. God he was terrible at it, but it always made Ghoul feel safe in his arms, with Slam playing with his hair. It kinda hurt to think what they could have been if Slam was never given a little bag of white powder. That was it right? It wasn't Ghoul's fault for falling in love if Slam had changed. It wasn't Ghoul's fault for falling in love if that's not who he really was. The drugs made him do it.

The drugs made him force Ghoul to do things he didnt want to, the drugs made Slam hit him. Made him hate him for being a boy. For being himself. If only Ghoul would have helped him stop taking them! Then- then everything would be okay and he would be badly and he wouldn't be in a hospital bed!

So it was his fault damn it! Everything was his fault! He should- he should have made Slam happier so he didn't want the drugs and the other girls, and- and he should have just pretended to keep being a girl! Then everything would still be fine and he wouldn't be spiraling in a hospital bed. He wouldn't be so damn pathetic.

God Damn it he was fucking crying again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its existential crisis time boiiiiiiiis


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **We are... not gonna talk about the fact that this hasn't been updated in MONTHS**

  
Though Ghoul was… sufficiently positive that he absolutely hadn´t healed yet, there weren´t words for the way he felt when Poison said that it was finally time to go. He was still unsure about Poison and the crew they talked so much about though. It was hard not to be. Poison seemed so… so lovely, but then again, Ghoul couldn’t really say he was the best judge of character. Not with everything that had happened. 

Poison talked about their crew a lot. Like a family. They told stories about when they were young, and they and Kobra would go lizard hunting when the blazing sun permitted it. About how Jet liked to mother them. Jet seemed like the most responsible one of the group, though the time that Ghoul had met them was short and hazy.

Poison talked about them as if they were the smartest person they had ever met, and they clearly looked up to Jet. When Poison had first started telling stories, it was easy to tell that Kobra was Poison´s brother, but Ghoul was pretty sure Poison and Jet were dating, though it was quickly made apparent that they were not. Poison saw Jet as an older sibling.

With the way Poison talked, they had to be good right? Poison seemed like the… the goodest person there was, and so their home would be safe. Still, it was a conflict in this mind when Poison was getting them ready to leave. The clinic was… it wasn’t white, but it was all too calm for his taste. Quiet and sanitized had never been comfortable to him, though the stress cleaning had at least made him used to more empty spaces.

¨Whats your home like?¨ Ghoul asked about ten minutes into what would be a two and a half-hour drive. They were in a radio dead zone, and Ghoul didn’t like the silence. He had asked before, though the idea of the place was just… oddly foreign to him, though he didn´t know why. There were Tons of broken, beaten down buildings put in the desert, though the spread made it feel like so few. So why did the idea of their diner feel so different?

Poison smiled fondly, and maybe that was why it felt so different, ¨Well it’s far from perfect, but I love her.¨ Ghoul assumed by her Poison meant the diner, ¨It used to be a diner, and it’s got gas pumps out in front of it that no doubt haven’t worked since that wars. We have posters and paintings over most of the holes in the windows, though we found velcro this one time, and one of the window paintings can be opened because Kobra likes to stick his head out the window on the few cooler mornings we get out here.¨

Poison always smiled when he talked about his brother, though it looked… sad in his eyes. Ghoul wouldn´t mention it though, it didn’t seem right to. ¨Kobra sleeps in what used to be a freezer we think, so he´s got a big heavy door, and his bed is in the middle of a bunch of shelves. When we all found the place, Jet picked the littlest room, though they don´t really sleep in it. They say it makes them happier to move around every night, so we Don´t really question it anymore. I have the only bed with a bed frame, and the biggest room. It´s got an unshattered window and everything! That´s where you’re going to sleep because it’s comfy, and my bed is the biggest too.¨  
Ghoul felt in a trance when Poison talked. It was… nice. They always had a lot to say about everything, so that definitely helped. The radio static crackled into words, a deep smooth voice coming through the speakers of the Trans Am. Ghoul had never been a music person, the stuff Slam always played made his head hurt. But the man singing through the speakers? His voice, his… vibe was totally different. Singing about a lost friend, singing about missing and grieving and their mask under the mailbox. It was a sad song, but it was full of emotion and much different than he had heard in a long time.

The rest of the drive was filled with music and a ´Traffic Report´. God, Dr. D´s voice brought back memories. But… he didn’t want to think about that right now. He was even able to let himself drift to sleep against to passenger side window, making the drive feel a bit faster than it was. 

Poison sang along with the songs on the radio. Gods, they were a terrible singer. He loved it.

\---------------------------------------------------------

Ghoul rubbed his eyes with his good hand, trying not to groan at the pain in his ribs. It was okay. They were healing, and they didn’t hurt nearly as much as they had. Not even close. Poison was right about their bed being big. They had decided he was on bed rest, and honestly, Ghoul felt like he slept for days. In reality, it was less than an hour, but it was nice. A real bed in a colorful room that didn’t smell like blood, sex, or bleach.

He felt dreadful though. Poison had tried to help him to bed and he had flinched away, the touch making his skin crawl. It was barely even a touch, and Ghoul couldn´t stand it. He certainly wouldn´t be able to share a bed, at least not at this point. And not being able to do that meant he was practically kicking Poison out of their own bed! He couldn´t do that.

He pushed himself up out of bed abruptly. It hurt, but fuck. Fuck this, he wasn´t going to be weak. And her certainly wasn´t going to steal Poison´s time and their bed, so he was going to thank them, but tell them as much. He wasn’t going to get so dependent on someone again, and he wasn’t going to burden them.

He walked down the short hallways, pausing at the end before he would have entered the main room. He could hear two people arguing, one of them distinctly Poison. He peeked around the corner, seeing Jet with their face in their hands, “I know this kid was hurt Poison, but you can’t go wasting out carbons of strays, especially without consulting the rest of us first.”

Jet’s tone was exasperated, annoyed. They were clearly upset. Upset at Poison, but it was clear to Ghoul that what they were upset about was him. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Nobody wanted him to be here, he was just a stray. A fuck up.

“We don’t know anything about him Pois, and we don’t have the spare food to go around. I hate to be that guy, but what is he going to contribute to the crew? We can’t just take in ever poor or hurt kid you meet on the side of the highway Poison.” 

Jet was right. His wrist was broken, clearly, he wouldn’t be contributing any time soon. Gods, he was even more of a burden than he thought to was. He sank down against the wall running a hand through his hair. Fuck fuck fuck, what was wrong with him? Why did nobody want him?

“You know why,” a voice in his head hissed, ¨Its because you’re broken. You’re useless and whiney and you make everyone around you want to leave. You-¨

His thoughts were broken by a voice above him and the reak of alcohol, ¨Whats your fucking deal stray?¨ the words burned. Ghoul looked up, a tall blond man stood above him, all alcohol and scowls and sharp edges. For a moment, it felt like he was back- back home. It felt like Slam was standing above him.¨I asked you a fucking question, what´s. Your. fucking. Deal? Youŕe not going to do well in the real world if you fucking listen in on other people´s conversations.¨

It finally clicked in his head. This was Poison´s little brother, Kobra. But this was nothing like the sweet kid Poison talked about. Ghoul curled in on himself, waiting for a black combat boot to kick him.


	10. Chapter Ten

Ghoul was braced for impact, he had done this too many times before. Just curl in tight, don't let the kick hit your stomach, face, or ribs and you should be fine. Deal with what comes. Don't cry or he’s gonna hit you more. Don't resist, he'll just keep going. They always do exactly what they want. But it was taking too long. Ghoul should be bruised and crying for now, and Kobra, if what was clearly true was as obvious as it seemed, should be kicking him. Kobra didn't exactly seem the gentle type.

He was tall and loud and brash and looked way,  _ way _ too much like Slam for Ghoul’s liking. It did exactly help that Kobra reeked of alcohol, and Ghoul could see the purplish hue of his eyes, a side effect of one of Slam’s favorite pastimes, cocain, and sugar. But, towering over him as he was, Kobra was still not kicking him, just looking down at school annoyed and confused, “Uh- Poison, I think your new toy is fuckin’ broken.” Kobra shouted, nudging Ghoul with his boot, “He's all quiet and shaky and shit.”

“‘m not fucking broken.” Ghoul muttered into his knees, though anyone who had even met him probably knew that wasn't true. One look at him and all you’d see was some stupid scared liitle girl covered in scars from exterminaters and even his facking boyfriend. He had never been able to run away fast enough. And he would have to run again. He wasn’t going to be a burden on this crew and he wasnt- he wasnt going to be fucking pushed around again! He wasn't a toy!

“Stop it!” Ghoul shouted as Kobra nudged him again with the toe of his boot, “Get the fuck away from me! Im not Poisons fucking toy, and my  _ anyone’s _ fucking toy!” It was sudden and hell, Ghoul didn't know where it came from. He didn’t know how he got to his feet, shoving Kobra against the wall so he couldn't hit him. “Don’t you ever,  _ ever _ fucking touch me again, or i’ll cut your fucking hands off. Don’t talk shit uless you can take a fight, and clearly, you haven’t seen a real fucking fight.”

And in the moment, it felt fucking fantastic to do. He was in control, and it felt like if he could be strong and this guy, who had fuking terrified him, could be weak, then he could do anything. But it faded fast as he backed off, a bruise forming dark on Kobras collar bone when Ghoul had pushed against him, and a shocked look on Kobras face “I-I- I didn't mean to do that.”

Everyone was looking at him now. Kobra looked pissed, though he was definitely startled. Poison looked scared, for him? Of him? Maybe a bit of both? Somehow, Jet’s expression hur the most. Jet just looked disappointed. Like this was something to be expected. Like Ghoul was a wild animal they had been waiting to go feral. And maybe Ghoul was an animal. A child born of the desert sand and the fatal burn of the sun beating down on it. Broken and beaten and oh so wild. Maybe he didn't belong here. Fucking over this happy crew.

Poison must have seen the fear on his face, the regret filling up his bloodstream as his heart pumped teanesed up blood adn fuck, he wanted to dissapear. The silent span of a couple of seconds felt like an eternity, but Poison couldn’t have escorted him away fast enough.

Neither of them spoke till Poison ushered him into their room, the one they were letting Ghoul share with them, “What- Ghoul what the hell happened out there? You're supposed to be in bed!” Poison was running their hands through their greasy shoulder length red hair frantically, not making eye contact. They looked just as anxious as Ghoul felt if they were being Honest, “Did he hit you? Did you  _ hit him? _ ” Poison sounded mad. Were they mad at him? He- he didn't deserve that, Kobra started it! He did, it wasn't Ghouls fault!

But what if it was? He had been eavesdropping on them, even if he hadn't meant to, “Yo- you guys don't want me here. Im just fucking things up I need to-”

“Would you be quiet with that! I wouldn't have brought you here if I didn't want you here! Jet is just overreacting, they always do that, and- and I dont know whats up with Kobra lately, but please, please try to get along. I know hes… I know it’s scary to be around him sometimes but…” Poison had this distant look in his eyes like he didn't want to think about what might be going on with his brother, “He’s my little brother. Hes going through some hard stuff right now, i'm sure you can understand. You- you better than anyone else probably, but thats… not my place. Look, life- life ain't easy, but were livin’ it. It’s okay to be scared, fuck, I get it but we can’t be getting in fights Ghoul.”

It’s not like poison was saying anything miraculous, but the way he spoke made Ghoul want to listen. Despite that, he really couldn't form much to say, “Can I- can I just go to bed? And maybe tomorrow we can go somewhere? Anywhere? I just need something loud to like… drown out my head, you know?”

He had spent so much time trapped that he just… he needed somewhere to go. He needed to see something beyond walls, though these were so much less blank than the ones in slams home.

Poison smiled at him fondly, “Yeah Ghoul, I- I might know a place. Hove you ever been to a Zone Party?”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I have ever posted, so I would appreciate any criticism.


End file.
